


Crazy

by cruisedirector



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen, Mental Illness, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-12-21
Updated: 2000-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little story set during "Scientific Method." I wasn't very nice to poor Kathryn, but then, neither was the episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy

Captain's log, stardate...the hell with the stardate. It's been two weeks. I've had this headache for two weeks. I haven't slept in days, I can't eat. Can't concentrate on anything I'm supposed to be doing. There's a binary pulsar out there we're supposed to be investigating, but when I look at the brightness on the viewscreen, my eyes burn. Let Chakotay worry about the damn thing, I just want a rest.

Everyone on my crew is annoying me. Tuvok can't seem to keep the most basic of ship's protocols functioning. Neelix, with those nauseating concoctions of his, alternates between being cloyingly involved and AWOL when we really need something done. Even little miss know-it-all Seven of Nine, who thinks she can fix everything with her Borg wonder-brain... The Doc's just about the only member of the crew I don't feel like taking a swing at, but I have to stay away from him, or he'll just threaten me with another of his massages.

Massages. Hah. There's one member of this crew I know can give backrubs the way I like. Of course, I can't even think about it.

Damn him.

Damn Tom and B'Elanna, too. All over the console in the middle of Engineering, like wild weasels. Proving every historical argument about why shipboard fraternization is a mistake. Does Tom think none of us have noticed how he takes every excuse to sneak off duty and visit her? They're probably screwing around in the Jeffries tubes, and the science labs, and the shuttles. Spoiled brats. I give them a break and this is how they turn out. A walking hormone and a Klingon nympho.

I should establish a rule about senior officers not dating other senior officers. That would kill a lot of problems.

I tried to get onto the holodeck for awhile today, to do some sculpting, unwind a little. But Carey had time reserved and Ayala after him. All by themselves. Probably to mess around with artificial blondes in bikinis. Hey, your wife and kids aren't around, so why not? Where's the harm? Sex is all anyone thinks about around here. My dedicated crew. Leaving their bodily fluids all over my ship. It makes me sick.

Everything smells noxious to me. The kitchen. The labs. Even coffee gives me a migraine. It's as if the entire ship's conspiring to drive me crazy. If it weren't so ridiculous, I'd suspect that evil aliens were messing with my mind.

If I see Mark in a turbolift, I'll never stop screaming.

I thought about telling Tuvok how I'm feeling, but he probably thinks I'm this way all the time. Emotional. Just on the verge of losing control. Same with the Doc--he's not human, he won't understand the difference. Probably he'll tell me to go relax on the holodeck, just like last time. I can't talk to my horny Klingon engineer, I can't talk to the Borg queen. I can't talk to the person I really want to talk to because we might end up not just talking. "You know what I think you really need, Kathryn?" And then put his hands on me, innocently, like he just wants to rub my shoulders.

Oh god. Think about something else. You've got a headache, remember?

Yes, I do. How can I forget? It's almost constant now, an ache behind my eyes, throbbing in my temples. I'm angry at everything. I'm angry at myself. Why didn't I just use the goddamn array to go home? I wouldn't be stuck out here with these juvenile delinquents and a barely competent crew and *him*. I'd never even have met him. I'd be at home with Mark, or without Mark, with my dog. Nice and comfortable.

Computer, delete last line. This isn't me talking.

The last time I really felt like *me*, though, was a long time ago. The day I almost died, the day I saw my father. It's been one disaster after another since then. The Borg, losing Kes, almost losing half a dozen other people. Maybe the stress is just beginning to get to me.

I could use a vacation on a nice planet somewhere. A real planet, not a holodeck. With a river to explore, and maybe some animals. Do some gardening, take some hikes, long baths under the stars. With company, I think.

I'd better stop thinking.

This job is driving me crazy.


End file.
